


Recalibrating

by aurilly



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-18
Updated: 2008-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A screwball comedy set in an alternate future. Mohinder and Sylar find themselves teamed up and on another long trip. They bicker. A lot. Probably to disguise the rampant unresolved sexual tension.</p><p>(This is more a series of vignettes set in the same low-key universe than a full-fledged narrative with a beginning, middle and end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have an argument while driving.

"I think we're almost there." Sylar tapped his fingers on the dashboard and squirmed in his seat. He couldn't wait for a chance to stretch his legs after hours in the car.

"And not a moment too soon," Mohinder replied without taking his eyes off the road. "We're apparently only forty miles away from Boston."

Sylar forced himself to pay attention to the sides of the darkening road, scanning for signs. "Yeah, we should start looking around for a motel starting from now. I'm---"

Sylar was cut off by Mohinder suddenly swerving into the breakdown lane and stopping the car. "No!" he yelled.

"What? What's wrong?" Sylar asked, preparing himself for an attack of some sort, since he couldn't figure out what else would have set Mohinder off like this. Now a finger was being wagged in his face.

Mohinder exploded. "I refuse to spend one more night of my life in a grungy motel. I absolutely refuse. Why do you always insist on this?"

"I---I don't. It's just---" Sylar was stunned into stammering. That was the last thing he had expected.

Mohinder had not finished venting. "Just because that's where we stayed that first time doesn't mean we have to keep sleeping in these filthy, god-awful excuses for lodging. Has it ever occurred to you to stay somewhere else?"

Sylar pulled on his coat sleeves and felt rebuked. "Well, no actually. I always thought it was fine with you. I didn't think you cared. I thought you liked it," he finished in a whisper. Sylar had always felt a secret kind of nostalgia for motels, ever since their first roadtrip together. Staying in them now helped him to pretend that he was back in that time, when Mohinder genuinely liked him for himself, before antagonism and anger had entered their relationship. He had always hoped Mohinder felt the same way, but apparently, he didn't.

"Well, I do care, and I don't like it." Mohinder breathed, having finally released a frustration he had repressed for weeks.

Sylar dissected the other man with his eyes, and he willed the familiar smirk to return to his features. "Wow, all this time on the road and I'm only just now finding out what a snob you are."

"It has nothing to do with snobbery, just good sense," Mohinder retorted. "Not only are we perfectly well funded at the moment, but it simply doesn't make good economic sense to stay in these places."

Sylar looked confused. "What do you mean? They're the cheapest."

Mohinder groaned. "Ugh, why don't you ever use your brain for anything useful while you're sitting there?"

Sylar wasn't going to stand for this anymore. "Actually, I _do_. While we're having a temper tantrum session---"

"This is not a temper tantrum!"

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, how about I drive sometimes? Don't you think it gets kind of boring sitting here all day, watching your bad driving?"

"I am not a bad driver!" Mohinder retorted.

"You still think you're in England or something where they go in the other direction. You're always looking the wrong way. If you knew how many times I've had to TK cars that were going to hit us out of the way, or how many times I've TK'd pedestrians to safety."

"I didn't think you gave a shit about anyone else." Now Mohinder was the one feeling chastened. He had always thought he had acclimated surprisingly well to American driving. Now that he thought of it, there had been a few close calls, but he had always attributed them to good luck. Apparently no.

"I don't. I just don't want us to be pulled over. A foreigner known to the FBI for suspicious activity and a guy wanted for matricide? A cop would get promoted for that."

Mohinder pursed his lips. "Moving along. As I was saying. How much are we paying for these motels? About $80 a night, right? Meanwhile, we could stay in a Sheraton in the city center, for only $90. That's where we're going tonight."

"How is that possible?" New worlds had been opened to Sylar. Mohinder could see it in the other man's eyes, and softened a bit.

"Hotwire.com. I pulled it up on my Blackberry." Mohinder held up the tiny webpage triumphantly.

"Crackberry," Sylar muttered under his breath. Mohinder's fascination and devotion to the device had been the cause of much jealousy and a few passive-aggressive arguments between them.

"I heard that, _Gray_. As I was saying, now I can sleep in a bed that doesn't sag and smell of smoke. And you can watch your precious Discovery Channel on some cable television. Ok?" It was formed as a question, but Sylar knew there was only one answer.

"Yes, Mohinder," he whispered, and looked at his companion with a kind of awe.

"And while I'm at it, I also absolutely refuse to eat in one more diner. How can you live on that shit? Pancakes and waffles for lunch? Preposterous! Sloppy joes for dinner? Never again. If I see another hamburger again, it'll be too soon. We're having something civilized and French for dinner tonight and Northern Italian for lunch tomorrow---no pizza!--- and sushi for dinner tomorrow night."

Sylar sighed, but knew he had no leg to stand on. "Fine."

Mohinder smiled and turned the car back on. As they pulled onto the highway again, he smiled and offered, "You can choose the music." Mohinder had always been secretly nostalgic about the way "Zane" had picked the music back on their original trip. It reminded him of simpler times, and had only been reinforced when he discovered on this recent mission that Sylar liked the same sort of music that an angry Mohinder had later convinced himself had all been part of the act.

"I always do," Sylar replied. He smiled, but inside he was a little bit perturbed. Those keycard hotel doors were harder to pick with telekinesis than the regular lock-and-key motel rooms. He had to figure out a new way of sneaking into Mohinder's room that night. The little temper tantrum had gotten him all hot and bothered, and with the promise of French wine that evening, perhaps something more interesting than the usual (ie., nothing) might be in the offing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mohinder and Sylar arrive in Boston. They go to nice places, for a change.

The reception clerk looked the name up in the computer system. "Ah, yes. Dr. Mohinder Suresh. Two rooms, two nights, right?" he asked with a polite smile.

Sylar turned playfully to Mohinder. "You know, if we're going to be upgrading from now on, it might make more sense to book just one room, not two."

Mohinder looked at him studiously and furrowed his brow, trying to decipher exactly what meaning, if any at all, lay behind the ambiguous words. After a searching stare, he turned back to the clerk. "That's right. Two rooms."

"I meant with two beds," Sylar murmured in an attempt to diffuse the unfortunately negative reaction his comment seemed to have elicited from Mohinder. He was miffed; the evening didn't look like it was going to be as interesting as he had hoped.

Mohinder ignored him. "Non-smoking, please."

Still feeling a little het up from their recent argument in the car, and this new embarrassment, Sylar interrupted petulantly, "What if _I_ wanted to smoke?"

Mohinder sighed, gripped Sylar by the shoulders and spoke very seriously. "There are many things you can do, but smoking is not one of them. We both know you have a different kind of heat. So, unless you've been sneaking off…" Mohinder suddenly realized he was being baited into talking nonsense in front of strangers. He shook his head, trying to get back on track. "Shut up."

The clerk coughed quietly and tried not to look scandalized. "Here are your keys. I hope you have a pleasant stay," he whispered, and handed Mohinder the tiny folders with their card keys. Sylar scowled to himself, but then he remembered something.

"Hey," he addressed the clerk. "Do you know of any nice restaurants around here? Maybe something French? We wanted something a little more civilized today." He threw a sidelong glance at Mohinder, who, after arranging his luggage in his hands and putting some papers back into his coat pocket, was turning back around with a smile on his face.

The clerk thought for a minute. "No, nothing like that around here. Maybe if you go to Cambridge. There's a place I recommend to everyone at the Charles Hotel. It's kind of pricey, though. Around Harvard Square."

"I don't want to go to Harvard Square," Sylar interrupted quickly. Both Mohinder and the clerk looked at him in confusion.

"Um, well, ok. Oh, I know. There's a French-like place on Mass Ave called Central Kitchen. It's right in front of the Central Square T-stop. You can't miss it. It's the nicest place in the area, but pretty low-key at the same time."

"Thanks!" Mohinder said. The two men gathered their belongings and walked to the elevator.

"Mohinder, I think there's some seismic activity going on," Sylar whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a strange rushing sound coming from underneath the building."

"I don't hear any---" Mohinder countered. Then he stopped as he realized how Sylar had heard. "Oh. Right."

They were silent during the ride in the elevator as they remembered various painful events of years ago.

"My key, please," Sylar requested, and stretched out his hand as he stood by his door.

Mohinder handed him the little folder with a card in it. "See you in a minute, ok?"

"I'll call a taxi," Sylar replied in a complete non-sequitor.

Mohinder stopped on his way into his room. "What for? We have a car."

"You got your way with staying somewhere nice. Now I get my way."

"Is this about my driving again?" Mohinder asked with more than a hint of irritation.

Sylar shook his head. "No. Just for one evening, I don't want to deal with parking and… everything. And we can have some wine and no one has to worry about driving."

"Alright." They both went into their respective rooms.

Less than a minute later, there was a knock on Mohinder's door. He rolled his eyes and went to open it. "What is it now?" he asked a shocked-looking Sylar.

"We're over the highway!" the other man cried.

"What are you talking about?" Mohinder asked as Sylar swept into the bedroom, walked past the two beds, and flung open the thick curtains to reveal Interstate 90.

"This. We're in that hotel built over the highway that we passed on our way here. That's where we are. That's what you get for $90."

Mohinder walked to the window, registered the information, and laughed. "Ah well. The room is great, though. I'll finally get a good night's sleep. The noise doesn't bother me. Probably because I haven't, you know, _killed_ anyone. Now, get out of here and let me change. I'm sick of you always thinking of these silly reasons to come to my room and annoy me."

Sylar shuffled next door again, subtly taking note of the construction of Mohinder's door while it was still open.

*************************************************

After the initial process of sitting down, ordering drinks and food, and settling into the restaurant were finished, an uncomfortable silence settled over the two men. Something about the transient nature of roadside diners had made talking or not talking a casual decision---not even a decision as much as something that happened or didn't happen organically. Knowing they would leave again in a few minutes had always kept them from the discomfort or having to get into conversations that were personal. Their relationship, such as it was, had been forged in the car, where Mohinder always had his eyes on the road, and the presence of the radio had always made it easy for both of them to stop a conversation as soon as it became problematic and pretend to listen to the tunes.

"So what's your problem with Harvard Square?" Mohinder finally broke the awkward silence.

Sylar looked at the table. "Nothing. Want some butter?"

"You didn't react like nothing back at the hotel," Mohinder pressed despite the digression.

Sylar snapped his head up and met Mohinder's eyes. "Fine. I applied. I didn't get in. My mother never let me live it down. Happy now?" And he furiously began slathering butter on his bread, even adding a bit of telekinesis to get it even further into the grooves.

Mohinder leaned back and watched Sylar and his bread. "That was a really hard year. Only 10.1% acceptance rate."

Sylar looked up with a curious glint in his eye. "How do you know that off the top of your head?"

Mohinder blushed, but thankfully it was dark in the restaurant. "I didn't get in either, and my father never let me live it down," he admitted.

"Poor little genius, had to settle for Cambridge," Sylar taunted.

"Stop it. No matter what, it's always terrible to disappoint your parents." Now it was Mohinder's turn to fidget with things on the table. He started shaking salt all over the place.

Sylar watched him and nodded. "I get that. But in the end, you turned out alright."

More salt spilled out of the shaker as Mohinder's brooding increased. "I wouldn't call being regarded as a crackpot by the scientific community, traipsing around the country with my father's murderer, and not having any real friends 'turning out alright'. Would you?"

There wasn't too much Sylar could say in response to that. Mohinder started trying to think of a new topic, since this one seemed finished, but then Sylar uttered a soft, "I like you."

There was a pause as they looked into one another's eyes for just a shade longer than could be called casual.

"That's such a comfort," Mohinder finally quipped, his voice dripping with so much sarcasm, that the only thing Sylar could hope for was that it was out of overcompensation.

The waiter appeared with the wine. Both men breathed a sigh of relief.

*************************************************

A couple of hours and a couple of bottles later, they hailed a taxi back to the Sheraton. Things had loosened up considerably as the wine flowed, but not so much that Sylar felt they had quite breached the protective moat of sarcasm and antagonism that Mohinder maintained at all times. There was something gentler behind Mohinder's eyes than usual, but every time Sylar hoped to place his hand closer to the other man's, or do anything that might serve as a gauge of how well he was doing to slowly morph their relationship, he had found himself wordlessly cut off or the subject changed or the waiter called for. At one point, when Sylar had been trying to hold Mohinder's gaze for a little longer than necessary, Mohinder had gotten up to go to the restroom.

The taxi ride was no different, except for the fact that Sylar had the feeling that Mohinder was now the one casting surreptitious glances at him and smiling to himself. But he couldn't be quite sure. When he asked what was up, Mohinder had said nothing, but smiled to himself all the same.

They said goodnight outside their adjacent doors. In a final effort to take advantage of Mohinder's slightly intoxicated state, he raised his hand to accompany his farewell with a shoulder rub, but Mohinder was too fast; he glided away and shut the door before there was any physical contact. Sylar was left with his hand hanging foolishly in the air.

While changing into pajama pants and a tee-shirt, Sylar kept his ears open for what was going on in the next room. Mohinder seemed to be more tired than usual (maybe it was the wine), for instead of watching the BBC as he usually did whenever there was cable TV, he brushed his teeth and went straight to bed. Sylar waited until he heard the calm measured breaths of sleep before creeping quietly into the hallway.

He did this almost every night. He pretended to himself not to know why. At first it had started because when they had first partnered up, one of their enemies had broken into Mohinder's room with a knife. Sylar had saved the day by bursting in. For a little while after that, he had always woken up in a panic in the middle of the night, wondering if Mohinder was ok. He knew deep down that he could tell just by listening, but he convinced himself that the only way to stop worrying was to see for himself. But even though the danger had long since gone, and it was now highly unlikely that anyone would try to kill Mohinder in the night, Sylar had gotten into the habit of spending a couple of minutes of every night watching the other man sleep.

He stood barefoot in the hallway and analyzed the door in front of him. The mechanism was controlled by some sort of electrical switch that could not be pushed back and forth without the digital prompt. Sylar tried everything he could think of, and telekinetically poked all of the different gears he possibly could. Nothing worked. He considered melting the locks, but perhaps the metal would melt in such a way as to irrevocably fasten the door shut. Mohinder would definitely be not be amused by that. He considered radiating it, but he didn't want to potentially give Mohinder cancer. He considered freezing it and then hammering the metal off, but that would most certainly wake Mohinder up and defeat the entire purpose.

With a sigh, Sylar finally gave up and went back into his own room, where he climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head. He tried everything to drown out the sound of the highway. Finally, he ended up inserting earplugs and putting his pillow over his head. It didn't really work, but between the wine and the beef and the advanced hour, he soon drifted off to sleep anyway. His last, frustrated, thought was that going forward, he was going to have to put his foot down about these fancy hotels. No matter what Mohinder said, they were going to stay in places with keys from now on.

*************************************************

The next thing he knew, sunlight was streaming through the thin crack between the curtains. Sylar had never been able to sleep past seven am, even as a child. During their time on the road, it had been a constant source of tension between himself and Mohinder, as the other man was a terrible morning grump. He moved the pillow away and stretched, thinking to himself that Mohinder had been right after all; he _did_ feel better rested, and this was definitely better value for the money. And although uncomfortable at times, they had had a more intimate evening than usual. Perhaps awhile longer of this kind of living might lead to… Sylar sighed and shook his head in resignation of his own pipe dreams. He got up and started heading for the bathroom when an unexpected sight stopped him in his tracks.

He opened the curtains across the room with his mind to get a better look. A shirtless Mohinder was curled up like a baby in the other bed, curls askew and a bit of drool making a wet spot on the pillow. After gaping some more, Sylar sat down on the side of the bed. His hand hovered over Mohinder's sleeping form as he deliberated whether or not this was actually happening and whether or not it was a good idea to do anything. Finally, his more basic instincts got the better of him, and he tentatively held the hand that was flung sideways.

"Mohinder?" he whispered.

"Mhrgmph."

Emboldened, but still baffled, Sylar now let his other hand massage Mohinder's exposed back. "Mohinder, what are you doing here?" he repeated in the same uncharacteristically gentle whisper.

He received another grumble in response. He wracked his brain trying to think of an interesting way to take advantage of the situation. It was the sort of thing he had always dreamed of, but now that it was actually happening, every single idea fled from his imagination. Finally, he thought of something almost too random, but for lack of anything else, he went for it. Something was giving him the irrational feeling that Mohinder was faking being asleep.

He gingerly climbed onto the bed. He bent forward and put his lips close enough to Mohinder's right ear to nibble. "We don't have to get going too early today. Maybe I'll go back to sleep, right here."

Mohinder suddenly pushed himself up with a frenzied burst of energy. One of his shoulder blades crashed into Sylar's nose, and, as he flipped himself over, his knee made painful contact with Sylar's groin.

"Ow!" Sylar cried, after landing on the other side of the bed and curling into the fetal position. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Now sitting up, Mohinder asked, "What the fuck are _you_ doing?"

Even from his balled-up position, Sylar felt he had the right to the moral high ground. "No no. Given that this is _my_ room, and I wake up to find you here, I think I get first dibs on that question."

Mohinder disengaged himself from the covers with an indignant and unjustified annoyance. "I was sleeping, as you probably could tell."

"How did you get in?" None of this made any sense, and Mohinder's non-answer wasn't helping things. Sylar couldn't believe that Mohinder had succeeded in sneaking in after he, with countless abilities, had failed so miserably. But _why?_

Mohinder pulled a keycard out from under his pillow and grinned like a naughty schoolboy. "Reception gave each of us two. I gave you only one."

Sylar grabbed it from Mohinder's hand and flung it across the room. "No really, what are you doing here?"

"I started thinking about what you said. It wasn't much more per room here than it was in a motel. But if we bunk together, we could upgrade even more without breaking the budget. I figured I'd experiment on what it would be like before committing." Mohinder's eyes gleamed with excitement. "And now that I know you don't snore or anything, I'm going to look into Hotel Sacher for our trip to Vienna next week. If that's alright with you, that is."

Sylar was still staring rather stupidly. It was a combination of awe over his confusion at the turn of events, his dismay at having been snuck up on like that, the nonsensical answers Mohinder was giving, the unexpected gratification of a long-held fantasy of a near-naked Mohinder, and genuine confusion about whether or not their relationship was progressing or if things were just as bitchily antagonistic-with-a-repressed-friendship-and-one-sided-crush as usual.

He finally willed himself to take a deep breath and reclaim control over the situation. "I couldn't care less about your hotel fetish. The only thing I care about right now is that you clear out of here so I can shower."

Mohinder shrugged and headed for the door. "Ok. I just thought maybe it would be easier than having you spend half of every night trying to sneak into my room," he said on his way out, leaving Sylar speechless yet again. He wondered how Mohinder had known and how in the world he would defend his actions.

Alone in the room again, he took back his personal resolution to continue fighting Mohinder's desire to stay in nice places. It seemed that keycards would no longer be a problem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for a flashback! How they ended up working together and on this trip.

Sylar had rolled his eyes when Bennet told him over the phone that he'd chosen a school in San Diego for their secret meeting, but now that he was here, he approved. It was Sunday, so no one was around, and the small teacher's lounge was actually rather comfortable.

He'd walked in just a couple of minutes ago, and his stomach was in knots. Thankfully, no one was bothering him. Bennet was whispering with Peter Petrelli, who kept shooting Sylar wondering looks. Sylar merely glowered at him. That blonde chick who had once electrocuted him also regarded Peter darkly. She was brandishing balls of lightning on her palm in what must have been attempt to control the obvious nervousness she felt about something. Sylar fleetingly wondered what she was so worked up about, but he didn't care enough to dwell on it. He had other things on his mind, namely numerous misgivings about having entered into this arrangement, and wondering where the hell the main reason for his wanting to do this in the first place was.

Mohinder Suresh finally came jogging lightly through the door.

Peter grinned and waved. "Mohinder, you made it!"

"You're late, Suresh," Bennet growled.

"Sorry, I…" Mohinder trailed off as, after opening nervously wide upon seeing Elle, his eyes fell on Sylar. His face immediately locked into a stony scowl. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Bennet put a hand up like a man who had prepared for such an eventuality. But then again, that was one of the reasons Sylar had agreed to this; say what one would about the man, but he had his stuff pretty together. "Sylar's going to be working with us, so you might as well get used to the idea. It isn't ideal, but he has critical abilities and information that will be of great use to us. And he's made certain agreements and concessions that---"

Mohinder was aghast. "_What?_" he finally interrupted. "This is not what I signed up for. You deliberately withheld this information in order to gain my assent to get involved. You cannot trust him. You don't---"

"Nice to see you, too, Mohinder," Sylar interjected quietly. Mohinder's entire body went rigid at the sound of Sylar's voice addressing him. There was a long stare, and Sylar felt relieved to find that he was still able to elicit such a strong reaction from the other man. His greatest fear had been that Mohinder had somehow forgotten him, or moved on enough with his life to have started to feel an indifference towards him.

This all went unnoticed by Bennet, who was too task-oriented to care about the personal dramas that were being played out between every single member of his team. "We have a lot to get through today, and if the rest of us can deal with Sylar working on our side for a period of time, I don't see why you can't. Don't think I've forgotten that he once tried to kill my Claire any more than you've forgotten your grievances. But he's given his word and given the situation, we have to take it at that. So, sit down and shut up. Your lateness has already put us behind schedule," he barked.

After throwing a furious glare in Bennet's direction, Mohinder looked around the room for a place to sit. The only unoccupied seats were a chair in the corner just beside Sylar, and half of the loveseat Elle was sitting on across the room. Elle was looking silently up at Mohinder with a curious mixture of friendliness, shyness, and defensive antagonism. Mohinder's gaze flitted uncomfortably between the two options, as though deciding between the lesser of two potentially terrifying situations. He finally walked over to Elle, and placing his satchel on his thighs, squeezed himself in with her.

"Hey, you," she said softly, and after two or three hesitations, let her hand waft delicately up to his curls, out of which she drew some static electricity.

Mohinder flinched at first, but then forced his body, if not his mind, to relax a bit under her wandering touch. He fidgeted a bit, as if not sure whether to give his old partner a hug or a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the shoulder. In the end, he kept his hands to himself. Despite trying to keep a straight face, his features kept twitching until he finally broke out into a sweetly indulgent smile. "It's been a long time, Elle," he whispered affectionately. Then he turned his attention to Peter, who began laying out the problem at hand.

"Yeah," Elle replied, ignoring everyone else and still regarding Mohinder wistfully.

"Shhh!" Sylar hissed furiously, and not because he cared in the least for Peter's harangue. Mohinder and Elle were united in the bitchface they threw at him.

The session droned on. And on. Peter's recap of this new danger was disorganized and unconfidently delivered. He kept interrupting himself to add details he should have exposited minutes before, and getting flustered when he accidentally heard someone (usually Elle) thinking loud and derisive thoughts about him. Bennet continually interrupted with demands and brusque interrogations for more precise information. Elle simultaneously crackled electricity in one hand in bored annoyance (until a greedy grunt from Sylar frightened her enough to stop) and cast searching sidelong glances at Mohinder.

For his part, Mohinder was the only one encouraging Peter. His level of concentration was lower than usual, however, because of the way he seemed to find himself unable to keep from sneaking looks alternately at both Sylar and Elle---different, yet similar kinds of looks.

Aside from the one grunt, Sylar alone remained impassive and unreadable. He was half listening to Peter and half watching Mohinder (who was in _his_ sight line). Nothing had changed in the time since he had last been face to face with Mohinder. His quick temper remained intractable, and his insouciant good looks had, if anything, only improved. Sylar caught Mohinder's eyes roaming over his body a couple of times. He wanted to think that he was admiring his lissome form (Sylar had recently started doing pushups), but he resigned himself to the more likely explanation that Mohinder was cataloging prime places to jab with an angry needle at the first occasion. This could be worked on, but what was more worrying was the silly romcom game of missed eye contact Mohinder and Elle were playing. It was sickening. What was going on?

"…and, well, I guess, that's it?" Peter concluded his two-hour long stream of verbal diarrhea, and everyone let out a sigh of relief.

"Ugh, finally," Elle sighed. She stood up. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved."

Bennet nodded in agreement. "I think that's fine. Let's break for fifteen to get some lunch and then come back to discuss how to tackle this. I have a plan already set."

"Of course you do," Mohinder snarked. "This was never a committee was it? Just you playing general and dictating to the troops. Well, I think---"

Bennet rolled his eyes. "If I cared what you thought, I'd ask Peter here to read your mind. We'll talk about it after lunch." There was a finality to Bennet that reduced Mohinder to exasperated silence. Sylar envied the man's ability to have that effect on Mohinder, but simultaneously didn't like to watch it. He caught Mohinder's eye in sympathy.

"Come on, doc," Elle urged teasingly, and pulled Mohinder gently towards her with a curious combination of tugs and strokes of the arm. "We need to catch up."

Still mesmerized Sylar's gaze, Mohinder resisted for a moment, but then he allowed Elle to drag him out of the room and down the hallway.

Sylar watched them leave with disappointment. A tentative pressure on his elbow woke him out of his reverie. He lashed out instinctively with his mind, sending Peter flying back a couple of steps.

"Oh. You," he snarled, when he realized that Peter hadn't meant any harm. "What do you want?"

Peter was still a bit startled even after recovering his footing. "I just… We didn't get to talk before we started," he stated lamely.

"So?" In Sylar's mind, this had been a good thing.

Peter was nervous but resolute in his good intentions. "Well, we're going to have to work together for awhile and I thought it would be a good idea to try to clear the air between us. I… I'll come with you to get a burger."

"I don't want a burger," Sylar contradicted.

"Yeah, you do. You were thinking it loud and clear a minute ago."

The last thing Sylar wanted to do was hang around with a telepathic Petrelli, especially when his mind was buzzing from seeing Mohinder for the first time in forever, but he could see that Peter wasn't going to back down. Maybe it wasn't worth making a scene. And maybe he could make it worth his while.

"Fine," he replied, making it clear that although he was agreeing, he still didn't like it. They left Bennet alone to make a phone call, and headed down the street in the opposite direction from where Mohinder and Elle had vanished.

Sylar decided that since he was forced to talk to Peter, he might as well get some information out of him. Although it was mostly covered up by construction noises, Sylar could catch snippets of Elle and Mohinder's conversation somewhere, already outside and a few blocks away. He heard her giggle at having made Mohinder burst into one of his joyous guffaws. Sylar's hands curled in rage, but he tried to keep his thoughts blank in order not to give himself away to Peter. He had become even less accustomed to these delicate social situations than before, and wasn't confident as to how to tread. But he got an idea.

"So…" Sylar began, "what's with her?"

"Who? Elle?" Peter's looked surprised at Sylar's choice of opening gambits.

"No, the _other_ girl in the room. Yes, Elle. It's plain that she dislikes you almost as much as I do."

Sylar's hostility went over Peter's head. He nodded shamefacedly at the ground. "I treated her very badly once. She hasn't forgotten it. I think the only reason she agreed to get involved was because Bennet told her Mohinder would be helping out, too."

"Oh, are they close?" Sylar asked with almost perfectly feigned nonchalance. Almost.

Peter cast a slightly questioning glance in the other man's direction, but from the way he began to ramble, he didn't seem to have registered anything. Sylar smiled inside to see how nervous he still made the man. "I don't know. Well, it's complicated… They were together for awhile, I never found out the whole story, so I don't know how it ended. Have to say, I was sort of worried there'd be tension or something… especially with her… you don't know her well, but she's kinda nuts. Maybe you could tell. The only person who seemed to really get her was Mohinder. But I think it'll be fine, because they seem to be getting along okay today, don't you think?"

Sylar didn't reply, and Peter shook his head as he remembered who he was talking to---someone who didn't like to talk.

Sylar and Peter continued on in silence for a few more minutes. They reached an In-n-Out and put in their orders for burgers. Peter finally mustered up enough courage to make another attempt at conversation just as their numbers were being called.

"Hey, so, I was wondering, since we're working together and everything, ya know… I've gotten a lot better at stuff in the past couple of years, but I never quite mastered the whole radioactive thing. I was always kinda traumatized by, well, you know... Anyway, I figured, since you're the one I got it from, if you maybe---"

Sylar drew himself up to his full height and stared down at the little twerp. "No," he snapped. And with a slurp of his root-beer/cherry coke mix, he stormed out of the restaurant. He wanted at least a couple of minutes to himself, free from Peter and the tensions of the meeting, to figure out how he wanted to play things.

Another thing in Bennet's favor was that he liked to chat almost as little as Sylar did. When Sylar returned to the lounge with his lunch, Bennet merely grunted in recognition of his entrance and went back to his reading. None of the others were back yet.

A few minutes later, happy voices wafted down the hallway. When they walked in, Mohinder was holding Elle's elbow in an intimate show of the excitement he felt about whatever funny story he was in the middle of relating. She laughed joyously up into his face. Sylar looked at them with envy. When Mohinder caught sight of Sylar, he interrupted his own story and stood rooted in mid-step, almost as he had earlier that morning.

Elle didn't notice. "Then what happened?" she urged.

"Eh?" asked Mohinder, shaking himself out of a daze. Sylar winked rakishly, and Mohinder first blushed and then looked angry.

Peter finally strolled in and Bennet stood up. "Peter, now you're the one who's late. Come on, people, if we can't pull it together enough today, then---"

"Sorry, Noah. Didn't realize I was late. I guess my watch is broken."

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Mohinder's head. With a wicked smirk, he jumped in to say, "Why don't you ask Sylar here to fix it?"

"What?" Peter and Sylar simultaneously asked, one with interest, the other with dismay.

Mohinder looked at Sylar while addressing Peter. "Didn't you know, Peter? Sylar here used to restore timepieces. That's where his name comes from."

"How did you---" Sylar knew that Bennet had learned his identity, but he hadn't known that Mohinder had discovered it as well.

Mohinder sneered at him, pulled out his wallet, and started rummaging through it. "I finally found my father's file on you, about a year ago. He had hidden it behind the cabinets. It had a picture and everything. I've been carrying it with me in the hope of running into Peter and showing him that you aren't so scary after all. Here, look. Haha."

Peter regarded a priceless shot of Gabriel Gray in all his bespectacled, sweater-vested geekdom. "Is this you?" he breathed in awe as he gaped from Sylar to the photo and back.

"Ooh, let me see." Elle sidled up behind Mohinder peered at the photo from over his shoulder.

This was quickly turning into a composite of all Sylar's nightmares. He tried to telekinetically snatch the picture out of Peter's hand, but in a rare demonstration of control, Peter managed to hold onto it using the same ability.

"Give it to me," Sylar growled, barely disguising his panic.

"Alright, Peter. Mohinder. Cut it out," Bennet warned.

Mohinder snapped. "Oh come on, Bennet. Whose side are you on here? You're always---"

"Look, I'm not the one carrying a picture of a serial killer around in my wallet for a year. Put it away," Bennet said with finality.

Sylar felt a burst of undeserved satisfaction as he watched the speciousness of Bennet's observation wash over Mohinder. The man goggled as the realization of exactly what he was doing hit him in the face.

"I… it isn't…" Mohinder stammered.

Bennet rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Save it for someone who cares. Let's get back to work."

Sylar finally got the picture away from Peter and put it in his pocket. The meeting resumed.

*******************************************

They went with Bennet's plan in the end. No one else had any better ideas, even though, as Mohinder pissily reminded everyone, Bennet's plans always sounded airtight until they ran into high questionable ethical quandaries at the eleventh hour. However, since neither Sylar nor Elle had a problem with ethical quandaries, Mohinder and Peter were outvoted three to two.

Everyone was tired and grumpy by the time they were finished for the day. Mohinder immediately got up and began laying into Bennet. Sylar could see that he would never get a word with him in this state.

"I'll be in the apartment I'm staying in if anyone needs me. Hopefully you won't," Sylar announced. Everyone simply nodded, except for Mohinder whose eyes he could feel following him out of the room.

Sylar stalked angrily down the hallway. None of this had gone according to plan. If seeing Sylar hadn't been what Mohinder had signed up for, then the way the meeting had played out had led to situations that Sylar hadn't signed up for.

He heard the clickety-clack of heels following down the hallway, and then a tiny burst of electricity hit him in the back. Sylar quickly turned around, sent Elle flying, and pinned her to the wall with telekinesis.

"Do that again and die," he threatened in a low growl.

Even Sylar's displeasure couldn't shake her out of her teasing mood. He found it insufferable. "Oh come on," she sing-songed. "Have a sense of humor. I know it's in there somewhere. Mohinder told me so."

That took him aback enough to release the hold, but he continued walking down the hallway so that she wouldn't be able to see on his face how her remark had affected him.

"Wait!" she called, and ran after him as quickly as her shorter legs could allow.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I just wanted to see if you could take it. That's all," she admitted, and was already turning around to go back to the lounge, presumably to feel up Mohinder some more.

Sylar got an idea. "So, I take it you're doing well?" he asked with pretended concern.

Elle was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Peter told me about you and Suresh. And if that's the case, then you probably…" he trailed off dramatically. It was working. Elle was spell-bound.

"What? What about Mohinder? What about me?"

"Well, you know. His… social disease.

Elle giggled. "Oh, well, we all know he can be a little awkward, but I don't think it's a---"

"Not that kind of social disease."

It took a couple of seconds for her to process, but finally she grasped his meaning. Elle gaped. "You mean…"

Sylar nodded.

"And so I…?" She had gone pale.

"It stands to reason," Sylar shrugged.

They walked for a moment in silence until Elle finally piped up again suspiciously. "How do you know it's true?"

Sylar leveled his trademark dead-eyed, know-it-all stare. Elle staggered as she came to the (incorrect) conclusion he had hoped she would draw. Her jaw dropped. "You mean, you and…"

Sylar neither confirmed nor denied the suggestion.

Even in her obvious state of dismay, she remained suspicious. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you already knew," he replied, and sped up his walking speed, leaving her in his wake.

A few seconds later, she jogged up behind him again. "Ok, I can't believe I'm about to ask you this, but since we're already talking about it and.. and it's not like I want to bring this up with anyone _in addition_ to you, can I ask you some questions? I don't really know much about all this…"

Sylar smiled to himself. This was going to be good.

*******************************************

Sylar had spent over two hours brooding in the apartment. He was as petrified as he could be. If his plan didn't work, he wasn't sure what else he could do in the short amount of time he had before they had to leave. He breathed a sigh of relief when there was a knock on the door and he opened it to reveal Mohinder.

Mohinder's mood was stormy, but Sylar couldn't tell whether or not it was stormier than it had been during the meeting… if this was about their general issues, or new ones that had been brought up.

"Mohinder. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Sylar asked with the sarcasm that he assumed Mohinder expected.

Mohinder stomped into the apartment without answering the question. "I want the truth."

"The truth about what?" This wasn't the reaction Sylar had expected. Maybe Elle hadn't said anything?

"You don't work with people unless you have some ulterior motivation. I know that first hand. So what's your game?" Mohinder demanded.

"The world is at stake. I'm part of that world. It's pretty simple," Sylar answered.

Mohinder narrowed his eyes and studied the other man. "I don't buy that. There's something else going on here."

Sylar's spirits officially dropped. This really was just about Mohinder's distrust of him in general, not about anything more personal. "Well, I guess you'll just have to wait and find out," he said lamely. "Care for a drink?"

There was a moment of silence as Mohinder sized him up and then looked around the room. "Scotch and soda, please," he replied.

Sylar moved to the bar area and started to fix the drink. "You know, Mohinder, it's a sort of beautiful circle, being here on the same side as---" but he never got to finish.

In a move timed beautifully to take Sylar off his guard, Mohinder's fist connected with the back of Sylar's head.

"Christ!" Sylar screamed as the world momentarily whited out in front of him. He reeled, and before he had time to process and defend himself, another punch landed on his nose. Sylar quickly summoned his wits and put Mohinder's arms in a telekinetic hold. Even though he knew full well what the answer was, Sylar felt the need to formally open the subject. "What's this about?" he asked as he pulled himself into a chair.

"Let me go!" Mohinder panted as he struggled fruitlessly to move his arms.

"What, so you can hit me again? I think you'll have some trouble doing that." Sylar said with his habitual calm, which he knew would enrage Mohinder even more. This must have put ideas in Mohinder's head, because now Sylar found himself winded and out of control again due to a swift kick in the solar plexus. Only Mohinder's arms had been immobilized.

Having released the first wave of his aggression, and now finding himself released from the telekinetic hold, a now emotionally spent Mohinder slumped into a nearby armchair and buried his face in his hands. "Why? Why? The one time… the _one time_ I manage to have an amicable break-up with someone…" he began muttering distractedly.

This was the moment Sylar had been waiting for. "Yeah, I heard about that. I have to admit I was shocked. It seems so unlike you. How did _that_ happen?"

Mohinder was too stunned with grief, anger, and desperation to quite know what he was saying---which was exactly what Sylar wanted. He had known there would be no other way of getting Mohinder to spill the beans. Mohinder started speaking very quickly, as if to himself, not quite aware of who was in the room with him. "I don't know. It was well over a year ago. We'd been partnered up for months, and then she went missing. I realized how worried I was about her, then it turned out she was sick, and I cured her… I don't know. One thing led to another… then we were stuck together in Italy for awhile…"

"That sounds pretty serious," Sylar asked softly. He had tried to get information out of Elle, but she was so nutty that he couldn't quite give credence to her remarks. He hoped he could get at the answer without breaking Mohinder out of his momentarily non-violent, albeit defeated, trance.

Too late.

Mohinder looked up with a desperate, frenzied expression as he came back into the situation. "I just spent an hour trying to convince my slightly unstable and highly dangerous ex-girlfriend that I did not give her VD. That I've never _had_ VD. Why did you tell her that? _Why?_ What the fuck, Sylar?" Mohinder was now pleading in an uncharacteristically insecure manner, all the fight gone out of him. The sight was so heartbreaking that Sylar began to wonder if this had been worth it.

However, given that they were already here, he decided he might as well play it to the end. "I was getting back at you for earlier, about the picture," he replied.

Mohinder groaned. "That was low. Even for you."

"Eh, from the way she was looking at you all day, I had a feeling she'd go easy on you. Speaking of which, do _you_ still---"

"No," Mohinder interrupted, having remembered yet another grievance. "Speaking of which, why did you tell her that we.. that you and I... Of all the disgusting lies!" Mohinder's demeanour was incredulous, but Sylar warmed inside as he watched a blush spread over the other man's face.

"I never told her that," Sylar said quite truthfully.

Mohinder exploded. "Then how do you know what I meant? And now, because of you, I have second-fucking-degree electrical burns on my ass!"

Sylar clicked his tongue. "I was under the impression you were into that," he replied calmly, for utmost effect.

"Excuse me?" Mohinder asked, and Sylar could actually hear the cold sweat break out on the other man's forehead.

Sylar shrugged, knowing it would enrage Mohinder even more. "Elle was naturally nervous about what all this might mean, and being rather inexperienced, asked me if certain things might have been a problem. Apparently, the two of you had some… interaction… with a _goat_?"

"You… what else did she…?" Mohinder had gone pale and started shaking a bit.

Sylar put up his hands. "Look, Mohinder, it's really none of my business. I was just… well, _surprised_. I would never have guessed such kinkiness lay behind such a---"

Sylar hushed when Mohinder stood up and started pacing the room. He had started muttering to himself again. All Sylar could make out was, "Gotta go outside… parking meter…."

Sylar furrowed his brows in confusion. "You haven't rented a car yet. What do you want a parking meter for?"

_"To bash your fucking skull in!"_ Mohinder screamed.

At this moment, Sylar's phone rang. He answered the call. "Yeah… ok… sure thing. Oh? … Well he's here right now… I'll let him know. Bye." Sylar breathed a happy sigh of relief.

Mohinder had been watching him curiously during the conversation. "Who was that?"

"Bennet. Look, don't be too long about this parking meter nonsense," Sylar taunted. "We're scheduled to leave in less than an hour."

Mohinder was confused by this. "We? What are you talking about? You were there today. I'm heading off with Elle tomorrow morning, Peter's teleporting to fetch Ando, and you and Bennet set out tonight."

"Not anymore. Things have been rearranged. Now Bennet's going with Elle and you're coming with me. Something about Elle no longer feeling comfortable… I didn't understand at the time, but now that you've explained…" Sylar grinned with mock-innocence.

Mohinder's hand clutched at his forehead. A broken sob choked out of his lungs. He left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

After wincing at the noise, Sylar smiled to himself as he made his way to the bathroom to inspect his bleeding face. It hadn't been the most promising beginning. Okay, it was the least promising beginning in the history of (re)beginnings. But, all the same, he felt optimistic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since chapter three was a flashback, this picks up after chapter two. Having finished their mission in Boston, the boys need to get to Vienna for their next project. Go Lufthansa!

"And how exactly is that _my_ problem?" Mohinder's voice was rising in irritation.

The taxi driver continued to be infuriatingly nonchalant. "Look man, I just don't have change. You don't unders---"

"Oh, I understand, fully. I've driven a cab, for your information. And I always had change. This is unprofessional, unacceptable, un---"

Standing outside with the bags he had just finished retrieving from the trunk, Sylar reached for Mohinder's hand through the open door. "Mohinder, let it go."

Mohinder's rage now turned on Sylar. "Let it go?! And leave a man who almost killed us a ten dollar tip because he claims not to have change? You of all people are telling me to---"

"Mohinder, get out of the car." Sylar bodily pulled his companion out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk of the airport terminal. He leaned in through the window and looked menacingly at the driver. Without saying anything, he mentally pulled a hidden ten dollar bill out of the driver's pants pocket, and floated it into his hand. The man's eyes grew round as he futilely grabbed for the money and looked at Sylar with uncomprehending terror. "Thanks for the change," Sylar taunted before turning away.

Mohinder watched it all happen with crossed arms. Instead of the teeth click of disapproval Sylar had expected from this gratuitous and public display of his abilities, Mohinder surprised Sylar by looking as though he was enjoying it. He gave the driver a bitchy eyebrow raise that silently said, "That's what you get for messing with us." Mohinder picked up all the bags and stormed into the airport. Sylar had to hustle to catch up with him in the check-in line.

"You're welcome," he panted.

Mohinder ignored him, but failed to fully repress a thin-lipped smirk of amusement.

They were only the second people in line (despite Mohinder's annoyed protestations, Sylar had insisted on arriving the recommended three hours ahead). The woman at the head of line who seemed to be directing traffic politely smiled and asked, "Are you two together?"

Sylar saw Mohinder's mouth begin to open, but wasn't in the mood to hear Mohinder answer her as savagely in the negative as he was sure he would, so he cut him off. "Of course we aren't. Don't be ridiculous," Sylar blurted out.

"I'm sorry to have assumed, sir," she continued. "Well, then, you can go to desk number four, and you, sir, can go to desk number eight, which is also available."

"Thank you," Mohinder said, picking up his bags and heading towards the check-in desk with a quick quizzical look over his shoulder at Sylar.

They met up in the security line a couple of minutes later. "I wonder if we're at the front of the plane or the back," Sylar remarked.

Mohinder looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean we? You're the one who wanted separate seats. I can't say I blame you. I'm sure we could both use at least a few hours away from one anoth---"

Now Sylar was confused. "Separate seats? I thought we booked these both on Bennet's credit card at the same time."

"Yes, but when we were checking in, you quite definitively told the woman that we are not traveling together."

Sylar gaped at the realization of what he had just done. "Oh!" was all he could say.

"It's as if you'd never flown before," Mohinder laughed. He didn't give himself time to process his own thought, because his eyes glanced down at Sylar's hand. Before Sylar knew what was happening, Mohinder had snatched Sylar's passport and had turned around to look at it.

"Come on, Mohinder. Give it back," Sylar said through gritted teeth. He would have snatched it with telekinesis, but they were in the middle of a crowd, and people were already starting to look at them.

"Aw, look at how young you are here. No one would ever have guessed what a---"

Sylar sucked in a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height. "Wow, you really are obsessed with pictures of me, aren't you?" This worked to get Mohinder to turn and face him again. With an annoyed shrug, he thrust the little blue book into Sylar's outstretched hand.

They were silent after that. The line moved relatively quickly. Sylar followed everyone's lead and put his jacket and shoes in the bin. It was all very strange. Mohinder went through the security archway first without a problem, but was subsequently told that he had been randomly chosen for screening, and taken off to the side. Sylar walked through without a problem and picked up Mohinder's things as well as his own.

Mohinder wore his pissiest expression while getting patted down. Sylar chuckled to himself as he found a chair he could sit in to lace up his sneakers again. He had just finished when Mohinder came over and slid his feet into his shoes. His mood was stormy, but he remained quiet until they had reorganized themselves and moved away from the security area.

Sylar figured he should just get it over with. "What?" he asked, knowing full well the answer.

Mohinder exploded. "I could say a million things right now. About how outrageous it is that I'm the one getting searched, while the man who is actually wanted by---"

"Shhh, I know," Sylar soothed. Sometimes Mohinder could be like an irritable child, forgetting not to throw tantrums in public places. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure it's just because that security guy wanted to feel you up. Way back when we were in the line, I saw him eyeing you, and definitely not in a suspicious way, if you know what I mean. And he whispered to his friend that he was going to claim you. Seriously. I heard it."

"Humph," Mohinder scoffed, but he seemed somewhat mollified by that explanation. They walked towards the gate. Almost no one was there because it was still so early. After a few minutes of silence, Mohinder stretched and moved to get up.

"Where are you going?" Sylar asked.

"Getting some light reading material. Who knows when we'll find something in English again. We have a lot of long train rides ahead of us. Watch my stuff." Mohinder stalked off and then spun around and came back. "Er, Sylar, do you want me to get you anything?"

It was the most openly nice thing Mohinder had said to Sylar in the entire time since they'd met again. In the quiet that ensued, it was clear that both men were thinking about that fact.

Sylar coughed and said, "No, I'm ok. I still haven't finished my other magazine and book." Mohinder shrugged and turned away. "Thanks for asking," Sylar added quietly. He wasn't sure Mohinder would hear, but the other man hesitated a little in his step before continuing on to the bookstore.

Sylar felt inside Mohinder's carry-on and pulled out his boarding pass. Asking people for help was anathema to him, but in this case, he had no idea what to do. So, he leaned over to the college-age looking girl across the way from him.

"Hey, excuse me. Is it possible to change a seat even after you've already been assigned one?"

The girl looked up from her book and at Sylar as if he was an idiot. He was already regretting having asked. She replied, "Yeah, just take it to the desk over there, and if the plane isn't full or if people haven't checked in yet, they'll try to move you."

"Do both people need to be there?" He pointed to the two boarding passes.

"Nah, I don't think so." And she looked down at her book again.

Sylar stood up and peered down the terminal. He saw the bookstore far away. Mohinder had only just gotten there. Knowing how indecisive Mohinder could be about these things, Sylar figured he had a couple of minutes. He walked over to the desk.

It actually worked. Without any fuss, the woman issued Sylar a new boarding pass seated next to Mohinder. He was back in his seat and reading by the time Mohinder triumphantly returned with his purchases.

"What did you get?"

Mohinder looked very pleased with himself as he sat down. "None of your business."

"Which means it's really embarrassing and you know it." To make up for grabbing his awful passport before, Sylar tried to grab the bag. Mohinder resisted, but Sylar discreetly sliced the handles off the bag with his mind. It fell to the ground and books tumbled out.

"Why you…"

Sylar ignored him and looked at the titles. "I didn't know you liked mysteries so much, Mohinder. Agatha Christie, Agatha Christie, Agatha Christie…"

"Only when I'm traveling," Mohinder mumbled quickly. "I like to figure out whodunit."

"What's your success rate?"

Mohinder shrugged and looked away. "A few," he said.

"Right." Sylar knew this meant none, but he didn't press the issue. Once he had taken his books back, Mohinder didn't say anything else until the wait was over and they were stepping off the ramp and into the cabin on the plane.

"Well, I suppose I'll see you in the morning then," Mohinder said as they boarded the plane. "Don't miss me too much." Sylar felt relieved with this proof that Mohinder hadn't seen him at the desk changing the ticket. He merely nodded, and followed Mohinder, knowing full well that they would be together all night. "So where are you sitting?" Mohinder asked.

"25B," Sylar replied.

Mohinder looked at his ticket and opened his eyes wide in surprise. "Strange. I'm in 25A. That doesn't usually happen when people don't check in together."

Sylar shrugged. "It's karma."

Mohinder raised an eyebrow as he put his bag in the overhead bin. "Perhaps, but in that case, I wonder what good thing you've done for once and what bad thing I've done."

"Your company isn't that great, you know. Neither are you god's gift to humanity."

Mohinder said nothing as he slid into the window seat and buckled up. Sylar slid in next to him. The previous people had forgotten to lower the divider. The two men hadn't really been this close in… well, forever. Even in the close confines of the Nissan, the gear shift had always been between them. Their legs were now in constant danger of touching, even with Mohinder's effort to lean his body towards the window and away from Sylar. He pulled out _Mrs. McGinty's Dead_ and started reading, tuning Sylar out completely.

Sylar fiddled with his individual television, but now that this was finally happening, his repressed nervousness returned in full force. The plane began to drive slowly onto the runway. His panic increased even more after the horrifying safety video was shown. Gas masks falling, people jumping onto rafts… Sylar didn't like this one bit. Not only was it claustrophobic in the cabin, but he realized how little control he would have over his life in the next seven hours. As the plane began to pick up speed, Sylar gripped his hands together so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Without looking up from his book, Mohinder silently handed Sylar a stick of gum.

"What's this for?" Sylar whispered through a clenched jaw.

"For the air pressure that will bother your ears in a few minutes. I assumed as a first-time flier, you wouldn't know to buy your own gum. It will help. Trust me."

Sylar unwrapped the gum and put it in his mouth, wondering how Mohinder had figured out his secret. For some reason, now that he knew Mohinder knew, Sylar didn't feel quite as scared. He calmed down for the remainder of the takeoff and concentrated on chewing. Mohinder glanced from his book from time to time with a very wry little smile on his face, but he didn't speak.

After they had reached cruising altitude and the flight attendants had come through with wine for everyone (Sylar was too overwrought for it, but Mohinder asked if he could have Sylar's portion), Mohinder put the book in the seat pocket in front of him, pulled out a ridiculous-looking sleep mask, and slipped it on. Sylar simply watched him, trying not to laugh. When he couldn't take it anymore, he burst out into such a loud guffaw that the people across the aisle started looking.

Mohinder raised one side of the sleep mask and looked at him curiously. "What is so funny?" he spat.

"Well," he started, trying to choke back the laughter, "aren't those for girls?"

Now Mohinder flipped the whole thing up to rest on his forehead, hilariously. It was actually polka dotted purple and black on the inside. Sylar held his forehead and laughed even more.

"I can't sleep unless it's completely dark. I need this when I fly," Mohinder replied matter-of-factly.

"Do you need it to be lilac?"

"Shut up, Sylar," Mohinder snapped. "It was a present from Molly."

Sylar continued to snicker, but couldn't make an effective response to that. After another withering stare, Mohinder lowered his eye mask again and snuggled into the headrest. Sylar squirmed in his seat and stretched his long legs into the aisle, struggling to make himself comfortable. He tried watching the little television, but found himself unable to get absorbed in any of the selections. He was restless. And the air was very dry. He turned to look at Mohinder in the semi-darkness. It was disconcerting not to be able to see his eyes, but it was pretty clear that he was asleep. His upper lip protruded in that anti-gravitational way it always did when he was asleep. For all the times he'd watched Mohinder sleep, he'd never actually been this close before. Their faces were a mere seven inches apart…

This was not a train of thought likely to lead to sleep, so Sylar forced himself to shut his eyes and shuffle himself into the least uncomfortable position he could manage. But his face was still turned to face Mohinder's. Before he knew it, he, too, was asleep.

Until something odd jolted him out of it.

"Gabriel," Mohinder mumble-whispered. At first, still half-asleep, Sylar thought maybe he had imagined it---projected his own desires into his ears---but then he realized what had woken him up: there was a hand resting on his upper thigh. Mohinder's head had also fallen so that it was resting on Sylar's shoulder, hair tickling the side of his face. Sylar listened to Mohinder's soft breathing and steady heartbeat to make sure he was really asleep; given the events of recent days, it wasn't completely unreasonable to wonder if Mohinder was playing a game. However, no one---especially not Mohinder---can fake the reduced heart rate and rhythmic breathing of deep slumber.

Sylar's entire body tensed, every nerve focused on that hand, the pressure of his palm as it pressed into his quadriceps, the curve of each individual finger as they gripped his inner thigh. The hand had landed dangerously high on his leg, embarrassingly so, in fact. Sylar looked around. Everyone around them was either asleep or engrossed in a film, but just in case, he used telekinesis to slowly stretch his blanket over himself, covering his legs and the way Mohinder was touching him. A flight attendant walked by just as he was finishing and smiled at him.

"Gabriel." The moan had become something desperate and almost---hopefully?---sensual now. Sylar bit his lower lip and his lungs constricted. Mohinder had never called him Gabriel, and the name sounded so much better in that accent than he ever thought it could. He'd never once considered the possibility that Mohinder might think of him as Gabriel. He'd never even thought of the possibility of anyone calling him Gabriel anymore, but now that it was happening, Sylar found himself wanting nothing more than to hear it again from Mohinder's lips---all the time.

He found himself imagining Mohinder saying it just like that while awake and actually doing something that would warrant that intonation. With his lips practically on Mohinder's ear and that hand a hair's breadth from where the two legs of his pants met, it wasn't much of an imaginative stretch to think of a situation. Sylar sat there, knowing he should move, shift, get up, do something to avert the disaster that was already threatening inside his pants. The hand on his leg gripped tighter, the fingers actually inching up even further. "Gabriel no, don't. Please. Why?" The whisper was less of a moan and more of a frightened whimper now. Sylar's heart sank. He could guess what genre of things was now going on in the dream. Mohinder's body began to tense and get a little more restless. "No, no. I should have known," Mohinder now mumbled sadly.

As Sylar listened, he could hear Mohinder's heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming more erratic. He was going to wake up soon. Sylar glanced down at his lap. Even with the blanket, he knew that there was no way he could let Mohinder wake up and see him in this state. It was too mortifying. With a small sigh, and one last second to memorize how it felt to have the other man draped over him like this---practically cuddling him---Sylar used his mind to move Mohinder's sleeping form off him and towards the window. First his hand was returned to his own body, then his head was moved from Sylar's shoulder and gently led towards the window, where Sylar had also telekinetically positioned a pillow to receive Mohinder's head. Lastly, the man's knees were pushed towards the window. In the end, it looked as though Mohinder had been snuggling up against the wall all night, and not against Sylar, who now quietly stood up. He tied his sweater around his waist in an effort to hide the bulge in his pants while he walked to the bathroom. He stood inside the tiny room, holding the sink and banging his head against the mirror.

When he had regained command over himself, Sylar returned to the seat. Mohinder was semi-awake now. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and he looked up with relief when Sylar slid into the seat again.

"Where'd you go?" Mohinder slurred sleepily as he ran his hand through his hair.

Sylar was still tense and sad, so his reply came out tersely. "Down the block to the store. Where do you think I went? To the bathroom."

"Oh." The obnoxious tone of Sylar's response went over Mohinder's head as he continued to scratch and look sleepy. It was a good time to wake up, as the flight attendants soon began turning the lights on.

Sylar quietly watched Mohinder's return to consciousness. "Have any good dreams?" he asked.

Mohinder tilted his head and looked at Sylar searchingly as he thought. "I don't know. It started out well, but things went horribly awry. Actually, it was pretty realistic, all things considered."

Sylar felt his stomach drop. It was his turn to mumble a chastened, "Oh."

"What?" Mohinder asked curiously.

"Nothing. I, er… I'm looking forward to breakfast," Sylar answered lamely, and pulled down his tray table.

"Not me," Mohinder said brightly, now having fully woken up. "I'm saving myself for a nice big sausage when we get to Frankfurt."

With a depressed gulp, Sylar crossed his legs and turned the television back on.


End file.
